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In his darkest nightmares, Dean didn’t think of ending up like this. When it was clear they were losing the battle of Wreley, he was ready to die on the end of the enemy’s sword like he was always meant to. He wasn’t that lucky. Getting captured was a much crueler fate.
This place reeks of piss and blood and desperation. Knowing where he is is worse than the physical pain and discomfort he’s in. He keeps his eyes firmly shut, but he can still hear the cries of animals and humans alike, the shouts of the handlers and the haggling.
Dean wishes he at least didn’t understand the language of the slavers.
"If I may offer advice, my lord, you can’t run a household with just women and children. You need slaves fit for hard work. I assure you you’ll find the best here. All strong men, former warriors."
"Why is he bound like that?“ a deep voice asks surprisingly close to Dean, "and what about the muzzle?" he sounds angry, as if the way they restricted Dean personally offends him.
Prompted by a spark of curiosity, Dean opens his eyes. There’s a man standing right in front of him, closer than anyone has dared in days. The first thing Dean notices are his eyes, blue and intense. His skin is tanned, but not like he spends his life on a ship or a field. He’s cleanly shaven. There’s a hood of light silk on his head, half covering his black hair. His ears and neck are adorned by gemstones.
"That’s because he’s very violent, my lord," the slaver answers the rich man’s question. His blue eyes stay fixed on Dean as he listens. "These slaves came from the last battle with Westerners. I guess this one was their commander as he speaks our language. He almost killed three handlers, then tried to kill himself. He’s strong, good for hard work, but he’ll need breaking and no offense, my lord, but you don’t seem like someone who can do that."
The rich man finally tears his eyes off Dean to turn to the merchant. "I’ll take him."
Dean's heart skips a beat with surprise more than with hope. If there was any hope, it dies when the slaver speaks.
"My lord, If you want a bed slave I-"
"I said I’ll take him." His tone makes even the slave trader flinch. Dean stares at him, in awe of his calm authority. There's a slim chance that this man will treat him worse than the slavers, but Dean ́s willing to take the risk. Anything to get away from here.
This time when a handler unhooks his chains from the pole he’s been bound to, Dean doesn’t fight and lets himself be led off the dais they use to display the slaves. He hisses with pain as he steps down and the handler has to support him so he doesn’t fall over.
"Is he injured?" the rich man barks out. "You’re asking such a great sum for a man that has been treated this poorly?" he says angrily. The merchant fumbles for argument but in the end agrees to lower the price.
Gold coins change hands and Dean's chains are handed to the rich man's servant.
"Careful about the leg," his new owner tells Dean’s new handler as they leave the market.
They take him on a ship with two dozens other slaves. Their owner is watching the handling with sharp eyes, his silk robe billowing in the wind. He’s shining in the sun. Dean thinks he looks like an angel, but he knows better. He’s an Easterner who keeps slaves, he might be worse than the devil himself.
"Give the slaves water and food," he hears the master saying as he walks closer.
"What with this one?" Dean’s handler asks.
The blue eyes roam over Dean’s body. "Separate hold, keep him chained but for gods’ sake get rid of the muzzle," he orders and walks away. "Water and food for him too, " he adds over his shoulder.
Dean doesn’t remember much from the ship. The moment he's allowed to lay down, his exhaustion overtakes him. He wakes up in a small room with empty walls.
There’s a simple bunk in one corner and a bucket in another, dim light is coming through a small window high on the wall. Dean tries to sit up, but he’s never felt this weak. The pulsing pain in his thigh tells him his wound probably got infected. He shivers. Maybe he’s going to die after all.
There’s rattling on the other side of the door, then three men step in. An armed guard, the man who served as Dean’s handler on the ship and the man who bought him but Dean barely recognizes him. He’s wearing a simple tunic and pants and there are no gems. He could pass for a slave himself, but Dean would recognize those blue eyes anywhere.
He walks towards Dean, but the guard stops him with a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"Careful, my lord. He’s still an enemy soldier."
He nods thoughtfully before turning to Dean.
"My name is Castiel. I bought you from the slavers. We’re going to unbound you, I’d appreciate if you don’t try to hurt any of us."
Dean nods, eyes on Castiel. He hears the guard let out a long-suffering sigh. Dean flinches in surprise when the handler tugs at the chains wrapped around his body. The handler stills for a moment but proceeds when he feels Dean relax.
Dean groans as the man peels the chains off; his skin is raw where the iron was digging into it.
"My lord, I think he’s sick," the handler says.
Dean hears steps on the stone floor, then a cool palm is pressed to his clammy forehead.
"Castiel!" the guard warns, but his master ignores him.
"He’s feverish. It must be the leg."
Castiel’s palm slips to Dean’s cheek, Dean presses a little into it and looks into those blue eyes, the man must be crouching by Dean’s bunk.
"What’s your name?"
"Dean," Dean croaks.
"I’m going to give you something to ease the pain and the fever, then I’m going to look at your wound, alright?"
Dean nods. He mourns the loss of the cool touch when Castiel straightens up.
He doesn’t really pay attention to what’s happening around him. There’s a clay cup being pressed to his lips, he drinks the sweet liquid that doesn’t take his pain away, but it makes it feel distant. The only thing that stays clear, is Castiel’s voice.
"It’s infected. I have to clear it. I’m sorry, Dean, it will hurt, but I’ll make it better, I promise."
"Alright, Cas," Dean slurs.
The pain wakes him up. Getting his thigh speared was bad enough, but getting the rotting wound cleared is much worse. The guard and the handler have to hold him down so he doesn’t kick Castiel off.
Castiel’s calm voice is a constant background, it’s there even when the pain subsides a little.
"It’s over, Dean, it will only get better from now on," he says. He runs a gentle hand through Dean’s hair before he cups the back of his head and helps him to take a few sips of the painkiller.
"Get some sleep, Dean."
The last thing Dean sees before consciousness slips from his grasp is a pair of intense blue eyes.
He comes back to his senses when somebody enters the room. It’s not Castiel coming to check on his wound, yet the face is familiar.
"Lisa?"
"Hello, Dean, how are you feeling?" she asks as she puts down a tray. She grabs a jug and pours Dean a cup of water.
"What are you doing here?" he stares at her instead of taking the cup from her.
"Castiel bought me from the slavers the same day he bought you. There’s a lot of people from our village."
"Ben?" Dean asks.
"He’s alright," she says with a small smile.
Dean finally takes the water and drinks it with greedy gulps.
Dean’s regiment was settled near Lisa’s village for weeks, so he got familiar with some of the inhabitants, including Lisa and her little son. They all ended up dead or in the hands of slavers. The fact that some of them were bought along with Dean is a small relief.
"Castiel is too busy, you weren’t the only one injured and some of the kids have a strange cough," Lisa explains as she takes the cup from him. "Can you sit up?"
He needs her help but he manages. She puts the tray on his lap. There’s a bowl of hot broth and some soft, light flatbread.
"Take it slow, Dean, you haven’t eaten in days."
He nods, grabbing a spoon. Lisa watches him as he takes his first few spoonfuls. Then he makes himself pause.
He looks at Lisa’s face. She has some bruises from the slave handlers but she looks good, calm.
"When I recover, I will find a way to get us all home," he promises.
Lisa frowns. "Castiel will come to talk to you later. Eat slow and drink all the water. The small vial is a painkiller, pour a few drops into a cup of water if you need." With that, she heads towards the door.
"Lisa-"
She stops but doesn’t turn to him. "You should only care about your recovery. We’re all safe and well."
She leaves him wondering. Lisa is a proud woman, how is it she doesn’t seem worried about them being turned into slaves?
Dean eats the broth and bread, then lays down on the bunk. His wound hurts and twitches but he doesn’t take the painkiller.
He drifts off for a while. He uses the bucket which is a bigger challenge than he expected. When he returns to the bed, he’s shaking and sweaty. He looks at the vial still waiting on the tray but doesn’t touch it. He wants his mind to be clear. He drinks some water instead.
He startles a little when he hears a knock on the door. It’s so absurd he almost laughs. He’s a slave so why do they bother to knock? Could he tell them to go away? He’s tempted to try.
"Come in," he says instead.
Castiel is wearing plain clothes again. He looks tired. He’s alone. Part of Dean thinks about strangling him, the other remembers how hard it was to just take a piss.
"I came to treat your wound and ask how you’re doing."
"Still wounded and enslaved," Dean replies in the Eastern language.
Castiel’s lips twitch. He walks closer and sits on the edge of Dean’s bed.
"Let’s focus on the first for now and talk about the second later."
Dean’s in too much pain to put up resistance so he lets Castiel peel off the bandages. He watches as Castiel frowns.
"I need to clean it again, it won’t be as bad as yesterday. Have you taken the painkiller today?"
Dean shakes his head. There’s the lip twitch again.
"I thought you wouldn’t. Warriors are the second-worst patients."
"Who’s the worst?" Dean asks to humor him.
This time Castiel’s lips curl into a proper if a little crooked smile. "Healers," he answers.
He reaches into a bag he’s brought with him and pulls out a bottle of foul-smelling liquid and some gauze. He cleans and re-dresses Dean’s wound in silence. Then he looks up at Dean, his eyes pulling Dean to drown in them.
"How are you really feeling, Dean?"
"Weak," Dean admits.
Castiel nods and reaches out to press his hand to Dean’s forehead. Dean flinches away.
Castiel stills. "I need to know if you have a fever."
Dean lets him touch him. The touch is as soothing as it had been before but Dean’s careful not to lean into it.
"You should take a few drops of the tincture before you go to sleep," Cas suggests.
"What then?" Dean spits out the words gaining himself a confused look from Castiel. "When I recover? What are you going to do with me? What will you use me for?"
Castiel bows his head shaking it at the same time. He heaves a deep breath before he speaks.
"Dean, I bought you and your people so nobody else would use you for anything. I don’t endorse slavery, but I can’t let you go. If they caught you, they would kill you. If they found out I released you, they’d kill me for high treason. That’s how things work in this country. But I promise I will treat you and your people well."
"But we will still be your property."
"From the law’s point of view, yes. Not in my eyes. In my eyes, you’re human beings that can’t be owned."
"But you bought us."
"To protect you." There’s a pause, then Castiel’s blue eyes bore into Dean’s. "If I left you there, you’d died of infection but before then, you’d be starved and beaten."
Dean clenches his fists. "Do you expect gratitude?"
Castiel shakes his head vehemently, his eyes widening. "No! I want you to accept this for what it is. Me giving you a chance for a safe home."
"Why would you do that?"
"Because what my people are doing to your people is wrong! And this is the only way to make it right. Or at least better." Castiel sounds almost desperate for Dean to believe him. And Dean wants to. But this whole thing seems too good to be true. Dean won’t settle until he finds the catch.
"I want to see my people." He says, keeping his voice neutral. The flicker of hope behind Cas’ eyes is almost painful.
"Of course. As soon as your leg heals-"
"Now." Years in command gave Dean the ability to sound authoritative without raising his voice.
Castiel frowns, looking at Dean’s bandaged leg.
"Alright, but you will take the painkiller when we come back. Do we have a deal?"
Dean nods.
He regrets his own stubbornness the moment he tries to stand up. He has to lean on Castiel heavily to stay upright. He tries not to think about the man’s body—hard and strong against his—or the smell of herbs coming off his hair. It reminds Dean that he’s filthy and he probably reaks.
"I could use a bath," he mutters when they hobble down the hall that’s behind the door of his cell.
"You can wash after we’re through with this. But no bathing until your wound closes up."
Dean feels a bit like an annoying child, but at least Castiel can prove he’s serious about treating his slaves well.
Dean had expected to be taken to some cell, but Castiel takes him out to the courtyard.
"I don’t know where everyone is but it seems like most of your people are here."
Dean blinks at the joyful sight before him. There’s a fountain in the middle of the courtyard and a few kids are playing in its water, their mothers looking after them. A group of people is moving some lumber in the far end.
"Dean!" a familiar child’s voice calls.
"Easy!" Dean shouts as Ben runs towards him. He stops and takes a look at Dean’s miserable state, then he carefully wraps his arms around Dean’s waist. Grinning, Dean pats his hair.
"Hey, big boy, how are you doing?"
Ben looks up at him, his face serious. "I thought you were going to die! You slept for so long!"
"I’m sorry I gave you a scare. I was sick, but I’m better."
Ben gives him a curt nod. "Castiel promised to take care of you."
Dean unwittingly looks towards Cas who’s pretending he’s not there. His arm is still wrapped around Dean’s back for support.
"Yeah he did a good job," Dean replies, "but what about you? Do you like this place?"
"It’s nice. There are peach trees in the garden and I can climb them. Our room is small, but mom said we could move to our own house soon."
Dean raises an eyebrow. Before he can ask Cas what it’s supposed to mean, he notices Lisa coming to them. To his surprise, she doesn’t talk to him but addresses Castiel instead.
"You let him out of the bed?"
"He was very insistent."
"You mean he’s being stupid," she says but she fails in sounding stern.
Dean realizes she’s using her mother tongue and Castiel is responding to her. He doesn’t have much time to think about it, because Lisa pats his shoulder.
"See? We’re good. You can go back to bed."
"I will let you two talk, I’ll be near if you need anything," Castiel says, "Ben, will you show me the interesting piece of wood you found yesterday?"
"Yes! It looks like a dog. Come on!" Ben grabs Castiel’s hand and drags him away.
Dean watches them for a moment before turning to Lisa.
"So, you trust him?"
She folds her arms on her chest. "Why wouldn’t I? He’s been nothing but kind and generous towards everyone."
"For now. The problem is that he can do whatever he wants with our lives. We are his property!"
"Yes, you’re right. But you are ignoring the fact that despite his power over us, he decided to give us decent housing and food and he treats us like a lord would his household back at home. Maybe better," she adds as her eyes follow Ben who’s talking animatedly with Castiel.
"He could make us work ourselves out, but he only wants us to make our living. It’s not much different from home."
"But it’s not home," Dean protests. She turns her hard stare at him.
"No. Our home was burned down to ashes and there are rotting bodies lying around because there was no one to bury them."
Dean feels his chest clench. She lost her family just like he did.
"Dean, don’t you understand that even if we could, we wouldn’t have anywhere to return to? This is our best option and I’m taking it! "
He hears the clash of weapons and smells the burning like he’s back in the village. He hears the screams. Lisa’s right, there’s nothing back there, nothing.
"Dean? You look pale, you should sit down."
"No, I’m good." Then everything suddenly turns dark.
The next days Dean spends swaying between feverish dreams about blue eyes, nightmares full of gore and screams, and brief flashes of consciousness.
"Please, don’t die." He hears on one of these occasions. "I know you hate the idea of living here, but don’t die. Please. I promise I will find a way to get you home if you don’t die on me."
Dean takes a sip of the cold water that’s offered to him and succumbs back to dreams.
Next time he wakes up screaming.
"Dean!" a frantic voice responds. Someone grabs his hand. "Dean, it’s Lisa, I’m here with you. You need to calm down. Stop trashing, your leg-"
The leg, it’s torturing him, it’s full of worms that are gnawing at his muscle, he tries to claw at his wound.
"Press it to his nose!" a different voice orders and strong arms push him back on the bed.
He smells something sweet and then there's a blissful emptiness.
He wakes up but doesn’t open his eyes. His body feels achy, his leg still hurts but it’s dulled. At least his head finally feels clear.
He hears soft humming coming from somebody in the room, a haunting melody.
He blinks his eyes open and sees Castiel’s back. He’s sitting at a desk, working on something.
"Cas?" Dean croaks, his throat feels terribly dry.
Castiel turns abruptly. "Dean!" He’s by his side in a second and helps him drink from a cup.
"Where am I?" Dean asks, looking around the room. It’s not his cell. There are more furniture, big windows, and the bed is much softer. It’s a proper room in a rich man’s house.
"You fainted in the courtyard. It was easier to take you to my room."
Dean frowns. "Where were you staying?"
Castiel nods towards a makeshift bed in one corner that Dean hasn’t noticed before.
Dean gapes at him, then shakes his head. "You shouldn’t have-"
Cas presses a placating hand to his shoulder. To his own surprise, Dean doesn’t flinch.
"I was really worried about you. I wanted to be near."
Dean’s chest feels suddenly tight. He remembers the desperate voice Please don’t die.
"Thank you," he mutters, not looking Castiel in the eyes. He didn’t trust this man’s intentions were pure, part of him still doesn’t, but he went to great lengths to save Dean’s life, even sacrificed his personal comfort. Dean makes himself look up. "I mean it. Thank you."
There’s that unnerving gaze of his again like he’s looking straight into Dean’s soul.
"I’m happy you are feeling better. And I wasn’t alone. Others helped me."
Dean nods, he recalls Lisa’s voice. "How is everybody?"
Castiel smiles faintly like he’d expected Dean to ask.
"They are good. Everybody was working hard to make the housing situation better. You will see yourself. But they were worried about you."
Dean opens his mouth but Castiel stops him.
"I will tell them to visit you, but this time you’re not leaving the bed before I allow it." His tone doesn’t leave room for negotiation.
Dean’s astonished by how many people remember him and care for his well being. It’s not only Lisa with Ben but also Bobby and Garth and Ellen and Jo and some people he doesn’t even remember. They all tell him about how they’re settling down on Castiel’s property - building homes for themselves, working in the fields, in the gardens or the kitchens, taking care of animals and setting up workshops for their crafts. They bring him fruit from the orchard and pastries from the kitchen and little figurines carved from wood and they all wish him well.
The day passes in a blissful breeze. Dean feels happy for all those people. So happy he forgets about his wound up until the last visitor leaves.
"I bought you dinner," Castiel says from the doorway. "It’s a western recipe so it should be to your taste," he adds as he puts the tray on Dean’s lap.
"Thank you," Dean says looking down at the bowl of stew. It smells delicious. Instead of the dark bread of his home, it’s served with the local flatbread.
"What about you?" Dean asks when Cas sits down at the desk facing him, "are you just going to watch me eat?"
"No, no, uh. I’ve already eaten but... I have some wine. I’d like to share it with you."
Dean swallows a mouthful of the delicious meal and nods. "Wine would be great."
Cas gives him a small soft smile and stands up to retrieve a bottle and two glasses from a cabinet.
Dean has seen glass cups before when he visited noble houses of nobles, but he’s never drank from one. He turns it in his hand watching the light of candles reflect off it while Cas uncorks the bottle.
He pours Dean’s glass first. The wine is thicker and darker than Dean’s used to, it almost looks like blood.
"It’s from my friend’s vineyard," Cas says pouring his own glass. "It’s the best I know."
Dean catches himself staring at Cas’ face. The smile curling his lips is quite charming. Dean turns his attention to the wine and takes a tentative sip.
It’s not the tangy liquid he’s used to guzzling after a battle. The taste is heady, sweet and fruity and a little syrupy.
Dean gives an appreciative hum and doesn’t miss the spark flashing in Castiel’s eyes.
"You like it?"
"Very much. It’s nothing like our wine."
Castiel’s smile widens. "Be careful, it’s also much stronger."
For a few minutes, they’re silent, just sipping their wine, Dean eating his dinner. It’s a comfortable kind of silence.
"So, how do you feel, Dean?" Cas asks when Dean puts the tray aside.
"Full," Dean says with a smile. He realizes that today he spent more time smiling than in previous weeks, maybe months.
Cas rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling too. "I’m glad you liked the meal but I was asking about your leg and your overall physical state. Let me remind you that you were still barely conscious a few hours ago."
Dean frowns and runs his hand over his bandages. Cas had changed them when Dean woke up and they haven’t leaked since which must be a good sign.
"It aches a little but it’s nothing like before and I feel... still a little weak, dizzy when I make a fast move. But-" he trails off, fumbling with the edge of his bandage.
"But what?" there’s a concern in Cas ́ voice. Dean looks up and studies his face for a moment.
"But I feel much better because of how happy everybody is. I think I’m starting to believe that your intentions are good."
"Thank you," Cas says very softly. It’s obvious he’s holding back a smile, his eyes are shining. It makes Dean feel weird around his stomach. Or it might be the stew.
Cas’ expression darkens suddenly and he looks towards the window. "If you still want to leave when you recover, I’ll help you find a way. But I didn’t lie when I said it might be impossible."
I promise I will find a way to get you home if you don’t die on me. It was a promise Castiel gave him when he thought Dean couldn’t hear him yet here he is, keeping it anyway. And if the happy faces of his people weren’t enough, this is what makes Dean trust him.
"I’d rather stay. If there’s space for me."
Cas ́ head jerks and his eyes meet Dean’s. They are dark in the candlelight but still incredibly blue and deep like the ocean and Dean’s fever is probably coming back because he feels dizzy again.
"Of course there is, Dean."
They drink the exquisite wine and talk about all the things two men from two countries that have been at war for decades can talk about.
The wine warms Dean’s cheeks and loosens his tongue and soon he’s not just smiling but laughing, too, even though he has to explain most of his jokes because Cas doesn’t understand his culture.
He falls asleep in the middle of Castiel’s story. There’s no pain and no nightmares this time. Just blue eyes and a deep voice, laughter, and a warm feeling in his chest.
The next day is very similar. Castiel checks his wound and gives him clear bandages. He seems satisfied with the healing process. There are much fewer visitors this time so Dean gets bored. He naps a lot and tries not to complain but Castiel must see his boredom anyway because he brings him some books.
"I can’t read your language," Dean says with a disappointed look at the books.
"I can read to you."
Dean gapes at him. "You’re not busy?"
Cas shrugs with one shoulder. "I can take a break," he says and sits down on his chair.
He reads Dean what might actually be children's stories but Dean likes it because the language isn’t too complicated and it gives him some insight on some of the customs of Castiel’s people. It’s not that he doesn’t think of them as enemies anymore, but he’s curious about some things that he’s seen Castiel doing or that he told him about.
"So you and Cas are best friends now?" Lisa asks. She interrupted their reading session by bringing Dean food and Castiel had left to get his own.
Dean huffs, tearing off a piece of flatbread. "Look, I still don’t entirely trust him. He wasn’t honest about his motivation. I’m not buying the whole atonement for a whole nation’s sin thing. But what he’s doing is good. At least it has been so far. And if he tries something funny, we’re outnumbering him and his people, right?"
There’s an amused smile on her face. "Right," she says stealing a piece of fruit from his tray.
She makes a pleased sound upon tasting it. "What even is this?" Dean asks poking the orange flesh of the fruit.
"I don’t know what it’s called, but it’s delicious and it grows in the orchard. Try it!"
Castiel retires to his room much later than the previous day and he looks tired. He pours them a glass of wine anyway and reclines on his makeshift bed. Their conversation is much softer tonight. Cas talks about his day and Dean asks about the orchard and other parts of Castiel’s property. There are long pauses in the conversation but neither of them minds.
"Who’s Sam?" Cas asks after one such a pause.
"What?" Dean snaps a little too harshly, he feels caught off guard by the question.
Castiel flinches and averts his eyes.
"I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have... it’s not my business."
"How do you know about Sammy?"
Cas rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks have a pink tint to them.
"You were calling for them when you were feverish. I went to your people asking for Sam but there was no one by that name and they didn’t even know of anyone back in the village."
Dean shakes his head. "Of course not," he breathes out.
He feels Cas’ curious eyes on him, but he doesn’t push.
"Sam is... was my brother," Dean answers after a moment. He feels the weight on the mattress shift as Cas sits next to him, then his warm palm lands on Dean’s shoulder. Dean accepts the comfort and appreciates that Cas isn’t offering empty words instead, like many people before him.
The silence is comfortable yet expectant. Dean takes his time to consider how much he wants to share. But the fact is that he hasn’t talked about Sam in a long time and he’s tired of carrying the weight of his death alone. Especially now when he feels like he should have been dead himself. So he gives in. He lets the intimate atmosphere of the moment take over and opens up. And who else should he open up to than Castiel? Castiel, who’s seen him at his worst, who’s responsible for Dean still being here and not rejoined with Sam in the afterlife.
"Our parents died when I was a boy. I don’t know what happened. I remember flames. I remember my father shoving a baby into my arms and telling me to take care of my brother. So that’s what I did. We grew up in an orphanage." He notices Cas’ uncertain expression and remembers that in Castiel’s country kids without a home become slaves so they don’t have a use for that word. "It’s a home for children without a family. My whole life, I was keeping Sam by my side, never letting go of him. The army was an obvious choice for orphans like us."
He makes a pause, swallowing around the lump forming in his throat. "He died a few years back. At the battle of Cadeleon."
Castiel jerks at the mention of the battle. His hand tightens on Dean’s shoulder. Dean looks up at him. His face is suddenly very pale.
"Cas? What is it?"
Castiel shakes his head and Dean sees his eyes refocus like he’s woken up from a dream. "Nothing, just... I’m sorry, about your brother."
These are the exact words Dean hates. He doesn’t want anyone’s pity. It won’t bring Sam back and it certainly won’t make Dean feel better. Yet somehow, Cas’ voice is so sincere, that Dean can’t just reject his words. There’s no pity in them coming from Cas, just deep sympathy.
Dean lets out a sigh. "Yeah, me too. I miss him every day. I feel like... like I failed, you know? In keeping him safe."
"You didn’t," Cas says firmly. "I’m sure he wouldn’t see it like that. Did he join the army on his own will?"
Dean nods. "It was his idea."
"I’m sure he didn’t expect you to keep him safe in a battle. He knew the risk."
Castiel’s eyes are unusually fierce. It’s hard not to agree with him.
"You might be right but still... I feel like it should have been me. When I realized we lost at Wreley I felt kind of a relief. I thought I wouldn’t have to keep on living without Sam. But instead..."
Cas’ hand slips off Dean. "You’re not going to make me feel bad about not letting you die, Dean."
Dean huffs out a mirthless laugh. "I know. With my luck, the infection wouldn’t have killed me and I would have spent the rest of my life in slavery. I mean real slavery." He notices Cas’ frown. "What I’m trying to say is thank you. For taking me out of that place. For treating my wound. I should have said that much earlier."
"You don’t have to thank me. All I want is for you to live a normal life, as normal as possible."
Dean thinks about it. "I can’t really imagine it right now, I’m a soldier, Cas, I’m not used to domestic life."
"You’ll see when you heal. There must be something you like to do."
"I like horses," Dean admits after a moment. It’s been a part of his job, but he always enjoyed it.
Cas’ face lights up. "See? I have horses! You can take care of them. And we can buy more and you can train them. Would you like that?"
Dean feels a soft smile spreading across his face. Cas gives him a warm look.
"You’ll have a job. You can choose a place to live anywhere on the property. Maybe you’ll take a wife. There’s a lot of women who will be eager to start a family or... I noticed you and Lisa are fond of each other."
Dean chokes on air. "We’re just friends, Cas."
"Oh, I see, right." There’s a slight blush on his cheeks. It’s amusing.
"What about you? Why don’t you have a wife?"
The question startles him. He examines Dean’s face for a whole minute looking for something while worrying his lower lips with his teeth. Whatever he finds or doesn’t find in Dean’s face must convince him it’s safe to answer. He takes a steadying breath before he speaks.
"I’m not inclined towards women."
"Oh."
"I know it’s frowned upon in your country, but it’s accepted here and I’m not ashamed of it," Castiel says firmly, his shoulders squared. "I’d be disappointed if it would influence our relationship, but-"
Dean reaches out and squeezes Cas’ wrist, cutting his speech off.
"It’s alright, Cas. I don’t mind."
Castiel’s relief is palpable. He lets out a deep breath and his whole body relaxes.
Dean’s a soldier. He’s been with a man before. Out of necessity of course, because one needs intimacy in the throes of war’s cruelty and when there’s not a woman to find... He prefers women but it would be hypocritical to judge someone for preferring men.
"If it’s accepted in your country then you don’t have to be alone, right?" He knew men like that back at home. Shut out of society, struggling to survive, abused by people who saw them as lesser beings. He feels a pang of anxiety at imagining Castiel like that.
"I lost somebody too, Dean, a loved one," Castiel replies after a pause.
"I’m sorry."
"It wasn’t because of war, but due to an illness."
Dean doesn’t push him to elaborate but gives him space. Not sure how to express sympathy, he places a palm on Castiel’s knee. It seems to prompt him into proceeding with his story.
"There was a lethal disease spreading through big cities. Hundreds of people died. That’s why we ran here. But it was too late."
Castiel swallows thickly, probably fighting back tears. A small smile appears on his lips and it’s the saddest thing Dean’s seen since he arrived here. "It was after we made love, celebrating that we escaped the threat when I noticed the dark spot on his skin, a sign of the disease. We tried to convince ourselves it was nothing but it soon became clear that he was infected."
Dean feels his own throat closing with sadness. "Cas." He tightens his hand on Cas’ knee. He doesn’t need to hear the rest, he can already see the horrible ending. But Cas seems intent to go with the flow once the dam was broken.
"I wanted to be with him, to take care of him. I didn’t mind getting infected myself, I’d be happy to die by his side, but he wouldn’t let me." There are tears running down Castiel’s cheeks now. "He pushed me away until he was too weak to do even that. I watched him rot alive and couldn’t do anything about it."
After a moment, Dean realizes Castiel’s story came to an end.
"I’m so sorry, Cas, I really am. I can’t even imagine-" He stops himself. He has lost Sam and it was worse than dying himself. But Sam was his brother, they were connected by blood. Dean’s never been in love, but he imagines it must be different than a familiar bond. And losing it...
Castiel looks him in the eyes. "I wished it was me. So I understand how you feel about Sam."
"I’m glad it wasn’t you," Dean’s surprised by his own words. He didn’t intend to say them out loud.
Castiel’s red-rimmed eyes widen.
"Who would have saved me and my people if you were dead?" Dean clarifies even though it’s just part of the truth.
Cas’ lips twitch into a smile. "It’s because of him that I got interested in medicine. I eventually gave up on trying to find a cure to the disease that killed him, but I’m still trying to help whenever I can."
"You are a good man, Castiel," Dean says and he means it.
They go to sleep. Castiel on the mattress on the floor which makes Dean feel bad, but Cas doesn’t want to hear about him moving to his room just yet. So Dean lies in Castiel’s bed and tries to sleep but can’t. He’s thinking about Castiel. About him watching his lover die. About hearing his desperate voice through the veil of fever begging him to stay alive. He tries to will those thoughts away but the thoughts that come then are more disturbing in a way. Dean thinks about Castiel being in love. Castiel without the perpetual sadness in his eyes. He thinks about the man Castiel loved. What was he like? He thinks what it’s like to be in love with a man. He’d been close to Benny but Benny had retired due to an injury before it could have grown into something bigger. Dean thinks about other men, faces, and names blurring. He thinks about how long it’s been since he’s been with anyone. He thinks about Castiel’s hand on his shoulder.
His thoughts turn into unsettling dreams. He dreams about blue eyes and tender hands and finding dark spots on his own skin.
When he wakes up in the morning, he feels like he hasn’t slept at all.
The day starts as usual. Somebody brings him breakfast and stays for a little chat. Then Dean’s trying to entertain himself without leaving the bed. He doesn’t even think about getting up, the times when he has to - to use the pot which is an embarrassing ordeal all in itself - are painful enough to convince him it’s not worth it.
So he stays in bed, carves little figurines from pieces of wood Ben brings him - something he’s not very good at but it kills time and the boy likes them no matter how imperfect they are. He takes naps often but they only bring dreams that make him uneasy. He asks Castiel to teach him to read his language. That takes a lot of time and energy which Dean is thankful for.
At the end of the day, he’s sure he’s going to die of boredom before his wound gets the chance to heal entirely.
Dean likes the time he spends in Castiel’s company the most, but he tries not to think about it too much. Cas comes to visit Dean during the day, checks on his wound, tells him about what is going on outside the four walls Dean’s trapped in and entertains him by teaching him to read in his language. He still feels a bit guilty about sharing his room and stealing Castiel’s privacy. Fortunately, Cas is so busy taking care of his little community that there’s not much space for awkward moments. He’s usually gone when Dean wakes up and he returns to his room when Dean’s already drifting off.
Today is different. Today the new inhabitants of Castiel’s property are putting up a new roof on one of the buildings that is going to become a home for one of the families. Everybody was excited about it and it was all Dean heard about all day. He was happy for them, but at the same time, it made him feel terrible for just sitting here while everybody else was working hard. It also made him doubt his own position. Will he even fit once he’s able to leave the room? What will his position be, how is he going to contribute to the community? It’s not like he’s good at anything besides killing enemy soldiers.
All the thoughts swirling in his head make it hard for him to fall asleep so he’s just tossing and turning in bed. The pain in his leg is only making everything worse. He hears the door opening and closing and Castiel’s steps. He turns over to greet him, but the words get stuck in his throat. Castiel’s back is to him. The candle on the table gives enough light to make his figure visible. At the moment Dean turns over, he’s pulling his shirt over his head. Dean knows he should close his eyes or turn away but he can’t. The sliver of skin revealed above Castiel’s belt makes him unable to tear his eyes off.
As the amount of visible skin grows, Dean’s heart is picking up its pace. It’s actually just a moment before Castiel’s shirt is off and Dean realizes that the lines on Castiel’s skin he thought were just shadows are ink.
His blood freezes in his veins when he sees the whole tattoo because he’s seen it before. He’s seen it on corpses, on captives. He knows what it means.
Black wings are spreading over Castiel’s broad back as a sign of the Eastern army. Three pairs of them, each with three rows of detailed feathers mark Castiel not as a common soldier but as the highest rank in command, subordinate only to the royal family.
When the moment of shock passes, a wave of white-hot anger surges inside Dean’s chest. Without thinking about it, he’s off the bed in a second ignoring the searing pain bolting through his leg.
Castiel manages to turn but not fast enough to avoid the knife Dean presses to his throat. He shouldn’t have left it on the desk earlier when he was cutting some herbs.
"You haven’t always been a healer," he hisses into Castiel’s surprised face and watches as realization dawns on him.
"No, I haven’t," Castiel says, resigned.
He doesn’t put up any resistance when Dean grabs his shoulders and throws him on the bed. He straddles him, lessening the strain on his wounded leg just a little, knife back on Castiel’s neck.
"Where you at Cadeleon?" he shouts, pressing down on the knife. Castiel closes his eyes as a drop of blood runs down his neck.
"I was there," he says quietly.
Dean’s hand shakes. "Did you..."
Castiel’s eyes snap open and bore into his.
"Did I kill your brother?” he says harshly, face stern. “I don’t know, Dean. How could I? There were too many of them. I don’t remember all the faces, I didn’t know the names."
Dean grits his teeth, tries to look away from Castiel’s intense eyes, because he can see the tears in them. He wants to hide away from the words, even though he’s the one who made Castiel say them.
Castiel’s voice is husky as he continues. "But I’ve killed brothers, I killed sons and fathers. So yes, I killed your Sam. And if not, I killed somebody else’s Sam. Many of them. And no matter how much I try to atone for what I've done, I could never wash the blood off my hands." There’s so much pain in Castiel’s words and it mixes with Dean’s own pain to make an unbearable concoction.
"So if you want to kill me, if you want to take your revenge on me, go on. I get it, I deserve it."
The anger leaves Dean as fast as it overwhelmed him and he feels weak. The knife falls from his trembling fingers and he slumps forward, bracing himself with his hands on each side of Castiel’s head.
"I should have told you," Castiel whispers. "But I was a coward."
A sob wrecks Dean’s body, but warm arms slide up his back and hold him. He leans over, his head feeling too heavy. He lets it fall on Castiel’s shoulder. He feels his breath hitch before it comes out as a heavy sigh. "I’m sorry, I’m so sorry," Castiel babbles as Dean cries on his shoulder. He embraces Dean tighter. Feeling drained, Dean lets himself be held. He feels more than hears when Castiel starts sobbing too.
They are a pathetic mess, clinging to each other as the emotions bottled up for a long time flow over.
They must have fallen asleep like that—in each other’s arms—because Dean wakes up, disoriented, hot breath on his neck and a warm weight on his chest. He opens his eyes and sees a mop of dark hair that tickles his chin lightly. Castiel is still fast asleep next to him, his head on Dean’s shoulder, his arm across Dean’s body.
Dean closes his eyes and tries to calm his heart beating frantically in his chest. He tries to move but is stopped by a tiny sound—half grunt and half snore—and Castiel’s embrace tightening around him.
He huffs a little. Before he can really think about what he’s doing, he lifts his hand and runs it through Castiel’s thick, soft hair. Castiel doesn’t move, his breaths slow and steady, damp on Dean’s skin.
Dean lets the sleepiness and the comfortable warmth overtake him and succumbs back to sleep.
Next time he wakes up, he’s alone.
They don’t talk about it. Not about that night, not about Castiel’s revealed past. Everything goes back to normal. The only difference is that Dean now catches himself thinking about Cas in a way he didn’t before. He thinks about his broad shoulders and strong arms, about his soft lips, his intense blue eyes, the smell of his skin. And more than before, he hates himself for it.
Not because he now knows Castiel was an enemy, not just a member of the enemy army, but Dean’s real opponent on the battlefield. No, that would be hypocritical and Dean knows it. He knows he probably killed just as many of Castiel’s men as Cas killed of his. Knowing Castiel’s past makes Dean see him differently, for sure, but not as it did in the first moment. He can’t hate him. He can’t hate a man who tries to atone so hard, who tries to fix not only his own wrongdoings but also those of his country. The things Dean sees differently are Castiel’s hands that used to be bloody from taking other people’s lives and now are gently nursing others to health. He sees differently the lines on Castiel’s face that he thought were mostly caused by his kind smile, but now knows were caused by pain. He now understands the authority that radiates off of him. He’s a man used to command and even though he doesn’t really do it anymore, he still holds himself like someone who’s used to being obeyed, or at least listened to. So yes, he sees Castiel as a different man now, but despite himself, he only has more respect for him.
What he’s afraid of is that Castiel will think of him differently too after seeing him in his moment of weakness. There’s nothing to prove that, though. Castiel is as friendly and kind as before even though maybe there's something tentative in the way he moves around Dean, almost as if he’s worried Dean will lash out at him all of a sudden. Dean wishes he could erase that look from his face but he’s not very good at dealing with emotions, his or somebody else’s.
Two days after their accidental bedsharing, Castiel enters their shared room with a smile on his face. He’s holding something that Dean realizes are simple wooden crutches.
"I think you’re ready to try these."
"Wow," Dean breathes out to hide the fact that there are two parts of him fighting. One of them is excited that he might finally be able to leave the room and join the others. The other part is telling him Cas wants to get rid of him.
"You should take it slow," Castiel says as he sits down on the edge of the bed and leans the crutches next to him. "Just a short walk today, don’t overexert yourself."
No leaving the room for now, then. Dean hates himself for feeling so relieved.
"I promise," he says with a smile. "Thank you, Cas. I’ve been losing my mind with boredom."
"I know," Castiel’s smile is very soft, "and I wish I could do more for you."
"You’re already doing enough."
They stare at each other in silence. Then Castiel averts his eyes and starts getting up. Dean catches his wrist. Cas looks at him, startled.
"Cas-" he has no idea what to say but he feels that he has to say something. "About the other night-"
"Dean, I understand if you see me differently now when you know... I understand if you hate me. I get that it’s even harder for you to trust that I only want the best for you and your people but please, try to trust me, at least about that."
Dean swallows thickly and squeezes Castiel’s wrist a little tighter. "I do. I trust you, Cas, I’ve trusted you for a while and that didn’t change. And I don’t hate you. How could I when I’m the same?"
"We’re not the same."
"You’re right, we’re not, because you left the army and you try to make up for the terrible things you’ve done by helping people every day. Meanwhile I - " he gestures towards his leg, "sit here and boil in my self-pity."
When he looks up Castiel’s lips are curled up in a tiny smile. "You’re going to heal soon, Dean. And then you can start making up for your past yourself."
Dean huffs. "I’m not sure I know how."
Cas shrugs. "I’m sure you will find a way." His hand escapes Dean’s loosened fingers only to pet his shoulder. "Let’s try the crutches."
Dean goes to bed exhausted, but he loves it, it’s so much better than being bored. He hobbles around, watching people work, listening to them talk about their new home and their plans. He even joins them for dinner in the makeshift mess hall that most of them still use since their homes aren’t made for cooking yet.
His days become much better after that. He can’t offer much help with the construction, but he makes himself useful in the kitchen. He enjoys taking his meals with everybody else very much. He notices Castiel smiling at him across the table at dinner.
"What?" he asks with a raised eyebrow.
Castiel shakes his head but he’s still smiling softly. "Nothing. It’s just nice to see you like this. You started to get grumpy when you were constricted to the room."
"Well, I’m pretty happy to be here."
"And we’re happy to have you!" Garth says and raises his cup in a little toast.
Dean moves into his own room a few days later. Everybody in their little community comes with something to make it more comfortable for him, be it a quilted comforter or a piece of furniture or just a bundle of flowers. Castiel comes with books and candles. Dean stomps on the thought that he’ll miss having him as a roommate.
The crutches are annoying, but he’s grateful for them. The weather is hot so he spends most of his time outside.
"Dean! Dean! You have to come with me!" Ben squeals as he tugs at Dean’s hand.
"Easy, easy," Dean chuckles as he tries to keep pace with him.
Ben drags him to the orchard. The shadows of the trees make it a pleasant place to be. There’s a straw target hanging against one of the trunks.
"Cas is teaching me to shoot a bow!" Ben exclaims excitedly.
Dean’s eyes are already on Cas who’s tinkering with a quiver. He’s shirtless, drops of sweat are glistening on the back of his neck. The feathers of his tattoo are moving with the ripple of his muscles.
"Cas! Cas! Show Dean what you showed me!" Ben urges him bouncing on his feet and tugging at Castiel’s hand. Castiel’s smile is a little shy when he looks at Dean.
Dean isn’t surprised that Cas is a good archer. Easterners’ elite unit is heavy horse archers. Being a Seraph, there was no doubt Castiel used to be a part of that unit. His riding skill, as well as his archery, must be exquisite. The thought makes Dean’s stomach churn. It reminds him painfully of what Castiel is, what he used to be. It’s still hard to imagine him like that, on horseback, in armor with a bow and a saber. He doesn’t want to imagine him like that. He prefers this Cas, with gentle hands and soft eyes.
Castiel must read it in Dean’s face because his own expression darkens, his shoulders slump. "I don’t think he will be impressed, Ben," Castiel mutters.
"Actually, I’m curious," Dean says, surprising himself as much as he surprises Cas. Castiel’s eyes are wide and questioning. Dean gives him what he hopes is a reassuring smile. He doesn’t want Castiel to be ashamed of his past in front of him. He knew Dean was an enemy soldier when he saved him from the slavers. Dean has no right to despise him for what he’s guilty of himself.
"Hear that? He wants to see! Come on Cas!"
"I don’t really-" Castiel is downright blushing now. It makes Dean smile brightly.
"Come on, Cas. Show off." So he does.
He turns his back to the target and starts walking. He nocks the arrow as he walks. After ten steps, he turns around, draws and releases so quickly that Dean only realizes what happened when he hears the sound of the arrow hitting the target. It’s in the center. Castiel doesn’t stop to check, he walks again, another five steps, turns around, shoots, hits, walks again. Dean watches him in awe. Facing Castiel’s incredible skill, he doesn’t see an enemy soldier. He sees a man who’s very good at what he’s doing. He sees his muscular body moving with perfect precision, he sees the focused expression on his handsome face. And he knows he’s lost.
His heart is beating fast, blood rushing to his cheeks, butterflies flapping their wings in his stomach. He knows he has thought about Castiel like this before, he just didn’t admit it to himself. Now, there’s no denying. He wants Castiel. His hands are itching with the need to touch him, to caress his skin, to ruffle his hair. His mouth waters at the thought of tasting Castiel’s lips, his tongue, his skin, his...
"Wasn’t that awesome?" Ben cries out, clapping his hands.
"Uh, yeah?" Dean stutters, startled from his thoughts. He realizes Castiel is coming to collect his arrows. He walked as far as 50 yards.
Dean grins and claps. "Very impressive!" he calls, hoping his voice doesn’t give away that he’s shaking inside.
"Thank you, Dean," Cas says when he stops near them. He’s smiling, genuinely pleased with himself, or maybe with Dean’s reaction. Part of Dean wants to run away and hide in a dark corner, another part wants to bask in the warmth of that smile.
"It’s your turn, Dean!" Ben tugs at his sleeve.
"Ugh, me? No, no, I’m not good at that."
"That’s what practice is for," Cas says, the glint in his eyes a little mischievous.
"Fine, I’ll try, but don’t laugh at me!"
They do laugh at him. At least Ben does laugh out loud, Castiel just smiles fondly and does something much worse. He starts correcting Dean’s posture which is the worst thing that has happened to Dean in a long time. It involves Castiel pressed against Dean’s back, his knee between Dean’s legs to push them apart, his hands on Dean’s shoulders.
Dean’s sweating profusely and it’s not just the sun. He’s never been a good archer, but now he can barely release the arrow right. Who could blame him, though, when there’s such a distraction.
He survives the shooting practice only mildly humiliated. It gets back to him when he lays down to sleep. The night is hot and he’s sweating, the sheets are sticking to his skin. He remembers Castiel’s touch, his lips so close to Dean’s face when he whispered instructions. When he closes his eyes he sees Castiel’s smile, he sees the wings on his back moving as he drew the string.
He fights it for what feels like an eternity but eventually has to give up. He pushes the sheets away and wraps his hand around his hard cock, happy that he’s not sharing a room with Castiel anymore. That thought makes him moan and tighten his hand. He imagines Castiel walking in on him like that. Seeing him naked and sweaty and painfully hard, moaning his name. He doesn’t even have to think about Castiel joining him on the bed. It’s enough to picture him standing in the doorway, his intense eyes watching Dean as he strokes himself. Dean curses breathlessly as he spills on his belly.
In the morning, he feels embarrassed. He can barely look at Castiel, so he starts avoiding him. It doesn’t help much, his mind running wild the moment he’s alone in his room. He doesn’t touch himself but wakes up in a wet spot a few times.
Castiel doesn’t notice Dean is avoiding him for a few days. Or at least he doesn’t comment on it. After almost a week, he starts to invite Dean to join him for a walk, or for a reading session like they used to have when Dean was confined to the bed. Dean refuses every time with guilt gnawing at him. Castiel takes the rejection with a kind but disappointed smile every time and patiently asks again the next day.
It’s breaking Dean’s heart, but he knows it’s worth it. He doesn’t think about Castiel as often as before, rarely dreams about him.
Two more weeks and it almost seems like Castiel has given up.
Dean is hobbling down the hall from the kitchen when Castiel corners him.
"Dean, I need to talk to you." His tone is serious, his face looks pale in the dim light of the corridor. Dean’s chest clenches.
"What’s wrong?" he asks weakly avoiding Castiel’s eyes.
"I need to know what I’ve done to upset you."
Dean looks at him, taken aback. He didn’t expect this. He thought Cas would be angry, not blaming himself.
"You didn’t."
"Why are you avoiding me, then?"
"I’m not," Dean mutters, eyes on his shoes.
"Dean, please, if I did something to make you uncomfortable, you can just tell me. Or is it... is it about me being a Seraph?"
"No!" Dean bursts out. He hates the pained look in Castiel’s eyes. "It’s not about that. I have no right to be mad at you about that."
"But we can’t be friends because of it. Dean, I get it-"
"That’s not it,” Dean protests.
"Then what is it?" There’s so much emotion in Cas’ tone, in his eyes, that Dean’s chest clenches painfully. He sighs, resigned.
"Nothing, just nothing. We can be friends. We are friends. I just haven’t been feeling myself lately."
Castiel’s expression changes, but he’s frowning deeply.
"Is it about your leg?"
Dean nods. It’s not a lie. His leg has been bothering him these past days. It was less annoying than his own thoughts though.
"You should have told me."
"I didn’t want to make you worry. You have your hands full with other things." It’s almost truth, Dean hopes it’s enough for Cas to take as an explanation.
"So what’s wrong with it?" Cas asks, still frowning.
"It’s the scar. It feels tight. It’s uncomfortable when I move, but nothing serious."
Castiel nods. "I have a salve for this. Wait for me in your room, I’ll bring it."
Dean is too tired to reject so he thanks him and walks to his room.
Castiel knocks on the door a few minutes later. Dean thinks he must have run to be back so fast.
"Come in," he calls and Castiel enters, looking around the room. It has changed since Dean moved in. It got some personal touches.
"I brought the salve," Cas says uselessly, holding up a small clay container. He steps closer to the bed Dean’s sitting on. "Take off your pants."
Dean swallows back a joke about how he’d like to hear that from him in a very different context and silently obeys.
Castiel sits down on the edge of the bed, his eyes on the ugly scar on Dean’s thigh.
He opens the jar and scoops a little of the bitter-smelling salve with his fingers. Dean sucks in a breath and holds it when Castiel’s fingers touch his skin.
He massages the salve into the scar, gently at first, then adds more pressure. Dean fights back a moan. He bites hard on his lower lip as he feels sparks of pleasure run from where Castiel’s fingers are touching him.
Castiel’s hand moves up and Dean instinctively grabs his wrist as he feels a rush of blood filling his cock.
Cas looks at him, startled and, for a brief moment, Dean toys with the idea of pulling him closer, of pressing his hand to his hardening cock, of swallowing his subsequent gasp in a kiss.
"Thank you," Dean whispers, letting go of Castiel’s hand. "I think I’m good."
Castiel nods, looking a bit confused, but he’s not disgusted so he didn’t notice the growing bulge in Dean’s underpants.
"Keep the salve. Use it twice a day and I believe you will feel better soon."
"Thank you, Cas," Dean tries for a smile. He shifts to grab his pants without revealing his crotch to Cas.
"You’re very welcome," Cas says softly before he leaves looking somewhat sad. Dean sighs heavily. He can’t avoid him anymore if it makes Castiel sad, he doesn’t deserve that. And Dean has to admit he misses him, misses their time spent together.
He falls asleep with a decision made: It’s better to have Cas as just a friend than not having him at all.
The salve helps and soon, Dean walks without the crutches. He limps a little, but that's something he will have to get used to.
He spends time with Cas again. It's almost alright. It feels easy being friends with Cas up until he laughs at Dean’s stupid joke and Dean's heart skips a beat. In moments like that, it's painfully hard to be Castiel's friend, but Dean will manage.
They are making what Castiel calls soap. Dean ́s not familiar with it. In his country, clean water is enough to wash yourself or your clothes, but Castiel insists that this hard ball of herbs and other stuff makes the cleaning better and can stop diseases from spreading. They grate the dry roots of a tall pink flower they harvested by the river and mix it with water and herbs.
“Oh, left the argan oil in my room,” Cas says, hands deep in the dough-like mixture, “could you fetch it, please?”
Dean realizes he hasn't entered it ever since he moved to his own room. It's strange to be here again. Castiel ́s room is a mess and it smells intensely of him. Dean has to fight the urge to curl in Cas ́ sheets and inhale the smell. He turns towards the table and sighs. The clutter of books, tools, and various ingredients is impossible to navigate. He knows he's looking for a small glass vial but he has to pick up a few things to actually find it.
He lets out a celebratory cry when he sees it but as he reaches for it, he knocks a small pile of books and the first one falls off, flapping open. Its pages catch Dean’s eyes because instead of text they are filled with drawings. He pulls the book closer so he can see better. The page the book opened on is full of flowers. Each of them is labeled in neat handwriting. Dean recognizes it immediately because he’s spent hours looking at it. He picks what must be Castiel’s notebook up and starts leafing through it from the first page. He doesn’t read the notes, just looks at the drawings. He didn’t know that Castiel draws. There are flowers and birds and insects. He pauses when he sees a drawing of a face. It’s not just a face. He recognizes the eyes, the freckled nose because they are the same he sees when he looks into a mirror.
With his heart beating fast, he reads the entry that comes with the sketches.
I’m worried about him. The fever is getting worse. He’s been calling out for someone named Sam. There’s no one of that name among his people.
Holding his breath, Dean turns a few pages back and starts to read.
The whole experience of a slave market shook me deeply. I wished I could bring all of the poor people with me but I had to choose. I went for the women and children, but then I saw a man - chained and muzzled like an animal. When I saw his eyes, I knew I couldn’t leave him there. There was so much strength, so much defiance despite the pain he was in. I knew what the slavers would do to him to break him and the thought of the beautiful man being flogged and cut made me nauseous. I found out he was wounded when he was handed to me. He fell unconscious during the sail.
The slaves. No, I’m not going to call them that. The Westerners maybe. No. The new inhabitants are settling in. Some of them are hurt, most of them are malnourished. Some of the children developed a cough but I think it’s just the change of climate and the overall stress of their bodies. The only one I’m really worried about is Dean. That’s the soldier’s name. His wound is infected. I’m doing my best to help him.
Dean woke up. He doesn’t trust my intentions which is understandable, I doubt I would trust myself in his position. I hope I will be able to gain his trust.
Dean runs a hand through his hair. He knows he should stop reading, but he can’t tear his eyes off the pages. He continues reading, skipping the part he has read already about him falling sick.
Dean is getting better. I can’t express how happy I am. It would wound me to lose him. I don’t understand why, but saving this particular man became very important to me. Of course, I care about the others a lot too, but there’s something about Dean...
There are a few pages where Castiel describes the innovations going on around his property and how all the westerners are contributing to the new community. He skims the pages until he finds his name again.
I think there’s a reluctant friendship growing between me and Dean which I’m happy for. The man is charming and clever and I cherish our time spend together, but there’s a great guilt clouding everything. Dean confided in me that the person he’s been calling for when feverish was his brother. A fellow soldier killed at Cadeleon. I should have come clean when I had the opportunity. Now I’m keeping my past hidden from him and it’s eating me alive. If he ever finds out, it will only make things worse, our friendship will be ruined. I dread that moment but I don’t know what to do to prevent it from happening.
I’m growing very fond of Dean. I’m a little scared of my feelings turning into something I won’t be able to control.
Dean found out last night. When he was holding a blade to my throat, I almost wished he would do it, but he’s too good for that. If there’s a chance of redemption for me, he deserves one too. Maybe he will see it one day. Maybe I will be the one to show him. If he lets me. I think we cried ourselves to sleep, two broken souls searching for sanctuary. I woke up with him in my arms and I think that was a moment when something snapped inside me. A levee was broken. I’m falling in love with Dean.
Dean’s breath hitches. There’s ringing in his ears and black spots at the edges of his vision as if he hit his head. He covers his mouth as he reads the rest of the entry.
And I’m afraid if he doesn’t hate me after finding out who I am, he will hate me when he learns the true nature of my feelings for him. I’m scared he will be disgusted by me. A man loving another man is an abomination in the eyes of his people.
"Dean?" Castiel’s voice startles him and he freezes on the spot, unable to conceal what he’s done, that he violated Castiel’s privacy and looked into his most secret thoughts. He doesn’t even move when Castiel steps closer.
"Dean, what are you-" he freezes too. They stand in front of each other like two pillars crumbling under the weight of the world. Dean forces himself to look into Castiel’s eyes, bracing himself for the anger he’s going to see. What he actually finds in them is much worse. Castiel’s gaze is filled with a mix of fear and sadness that makes Dean’s chest clench.
"Cas, I-"
"You weren’t supposed to see that," Castiel blurts out, reaching for the book in Dean’s hands and closing it. Dean catches his hands, trapping them between his own palms and the covers of the book. He feels them shaking.
"I’m sorry I read it," he says softly.
Castiel’s eyes fall shut, he bows his head in shame. "Dean. I cherish our friendship, I would never jeopardize it by wanting something of you that you can’t give."
Dean gently pries the book from Castiel’s hands and puts it down on the table. "And what if I can? What if I want to?"
Castiel looks at him, his face a picture of confusion. "But in your country-"
"Slavery is normal in your country, but you are fighting against it. I don’t have to agree with every stupid prejudice common among my people."
"Oh," Castiel breathes out. "So do you-"
Dean feels laughter bubbling in his chest, relief and hope spreading through his whole being. He steps even closer, cupping Castiel’s face in his palm. "Yes, I am. I’ve been avoiding you in the past weeks because my feelings towards you grew too strong and I couldn’t imagine someone like you would ever want someone like me."
"Dean-"
"Shh," Dean hushes him and brushes the pad of his thumb against his plush lips. "I’m glad I could read your notes even though I regret doing it without your permission. But thanks to them I know how you see me and that you were always honest to me."
"Not always," Castiel admits, averting his eyes. Dean nudges his chin back up.
"You kept things away from me out of fear of my reaction."
"I was being a coward."
"You were being careful with your own heart. I can understand. But you don’t have to be anymore."
Castiel’s lips curl up, the look in his eyes changes, brightens. He puts his hand over Dean’s and moves his head to rub his stubbled cheek against Dean’s palm.
"Then tell me something I was scared to find out. What would happen if I kissed you?"
Dean can’t hold back anymore, happy laugh bursts out of his mouth. "I would kiss you back," he answers and his heart soars at the smile Cas gives him, bright and happy and just the tiniest bit disbelieving.
"And then I would kiss you again and again for every time I thought about doing it since I came here."
"Dean-" Cas sighs before he leans in and presses his lips to Dean’s.
Dean kisses him back. And then again and again and again.
“Now the wren has gone to roost and the sky is turnin' gold
And like the sky my soul is also turnin'
Turnin' from the past, at last and all I've left behind”
Ray Lamontagne - Old Before Your Time